


shattered

by Satine86



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, There's not really much comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-29 19:24:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15080024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Satine86/pseuds/Satine86
Summary: For a brief, elated moment Phillip thought that Anne would kiss him.





	shattered

**Author's Note:**

  * For [phillipisabean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/phillipisabean/gifts).



> phillipisabean asked for 'hurt or emotional Phillip' and this just kinda happened. I hope it suits? (This might be the companion to [this ficlet](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14595393/chapters/33767046) )

As they stood together the world around them quietened down to nothing, until only the sound of their breathing could be heard. For a brief, elated moment Phillip thought that Anne would kiss him. He wanted and hoped and yearned for that; for her. But then it all changed. 

She was pulling away, and his hand now hung useless at his side from where she had plucked it from her waist. It felt colder for the lack of her touch, her skin, her inherent warmth. Anne turned and walked away from him. Phillip wanted nothing more than to call out and stop her, make her stay, only he knew he couldn’t. Even if every soft echo of her foot falls tore another hole inside his chest. 

He remained rooted there a long time after she had gone, focusing only on his breathing. He forced it to remain even despite the hurt, despite the worry, despite the quaking sobs that fought to escape. Phillip squeezed his eyes shut against it all, tried to will it away. When he felt marginally in control again, he turned and left the ring. 

With quick steps he climbed the stairs to the office he shared with P.T. -- though at this point it was more his than Barnum’s -- and took a seat in the chair behind the desk. He reached for the bottom drawer, rummaged around a bit before withdrawing a bottle. The urge for a drink was strong, like it hadn’t been since before he had joined the circus. 

The bottle was still nearly full, untouched save a congratulatory drink with P.T. at the end of his first official day as an ‘overcompensated apprentice.’ There were glasses on the shelf near the window, but Phillip ignored them, instead uncorked the bottle and tilted his head back. The amber liquid burned pleasantly as it hit the back of his throat. Familiar, and oddly comforting.

Setting down the bottle again, he found the usually pleasant warmth of the liquor did little to assuage the cold guilt still gripping his chest, or the heartbreak that was nearly choking him. 

What if he hadn't asked her to the theater that night? What if his parents hadn't been there? Would they have enjoyed the play, quietly sharing their thoughts as it progressed? He wanted nothing more than to hear everything she had to say; what she liked, what she didn't, and whether or not the theater had lived up to her expectations. Now he would never know; would never take her hand, softly kiss it goodnight as he returned her home. Would never boldly press his lips to her cheek….would never know--

Phillip broke off his thoughts, ran his fingers over his lips before taking another swig of whiskey. Then another. The line of liquid in the bottle slowly dropping, until it had dipped below label. That was when Lettie found him.

She sat down on the small sofa in the corner without preamble, gave him a once over before her gaze drifted toward the bottle. “Well, don't need to ask you how you're doing.”

He snorted loudly, and took a sip before offering her the bottle. “Did you see her?” he asked.

“Yeah.” She took the bottle from his fingers, downed a healthy gulp before returning it. “She needed some time alone, figured I'd check on you. What happened?”

“Nothing. Everything.” Phillip shrugged, took another swig and dabbed at his chin when it dribbled from his lips.

“You're a mess, Carlyle,” she said, but not unkindly. Worry marring her brow, lips pursed slightly. 

“Yeah, I am, and I plan on being a big sloppy one before the night is over.” He took another drink to prove his point. “It's over, Lettie. There's nothing to do. Nothing to say, because no promise is big enough, no feelings are pure enough. Nothing I do is ever going to change anything.”

“Hand that here,” she gestured toward the bottle. “I think you've had enough.”

“No, Lettie. This is the one thing I can do; drink this down and still get up in the morning. Even if I won't want to.” He gave a sardonic smile, rapped his knuckles against the side of the bottle. “Just let me have this, the only thing I’ve ever been good at in my life: hiding my feelings at the bottom of a bottle.” 

“Phillip, this isn’t doing you any favors. You know that.” She stood up and placed herself next to his chair, but she didn’t try to take the bottle. He eyed her for a moment, back to feeling guilty and forlorn. He slid the bottle away. Lettie took it, swiftly replaced the cork, and crossed her arms. 

“You know,” he said, watching as the whiskey sloshed against the glass. For a moment they looked like crashing waves, and he wanted to drown in it. “Sometimes I wish I hadn’t ever met P.T., hadn’t ever come here.”

“Don’t talk like that.” 

“Why not?” He looked up at Lettie, her face full of concern. “Just imagine if I hadn’t shown up; hadn’t taken you all to London in some grand gesture? P.T. wouldn’t have met Jenny, and he’d be here doing what he does best and keeping the ticket sales up. Instead it’s just me.”

“Instead it’s you.” Lettie retook her seat. “It’s you, trying to take care of everyone, looking out for our best interests. You’re good for this place, Phillip, whether you see it or not. Besides,” she added with a pointed look, “you would have never met Anne. Is that really what you want?”

Phillip tried to imagine if he had never met her, never known her. His heart wouldn’t ache like it did now, his life would probably make a little more sense -- or as much sense as it ever did -- but it would be empty. Everything dulled and tarnished. Anne was vibrant, and beautiful, and since the very first moment they had locked eyes she had set his world on fire; bright and warm. But like a fool he had ran from it, when he should have ran toward it. 

Now there were too many doubts, too many worries. Still, he couldn’t picture his world without her. Without knowing she was there, soaring through the air like a angel that was never meant to touch the ground. 

“No,” he finally answered Lettie’s question. It wasn’t what he wanted. What he wanted was Anne, but that wasn’t an option. “You know what the worst part is?” 

“What’s that?” 

“It’s that I know she loves me too.” He scrubbed his hands down his face. “I know she does, and I know she’s hurting right now just as much as I am. She’s hurt and there’s not a goddamned thing I can do about it.” 

He looked at Lettie, her brows knitted together and eyes shining with emotion. She opened her mouth, then shut again. Obviously uncertain of what to say. 

“It’s okay, Lettie.” Phillip shook his head. “There’s nothing to say, or do. Other than accept it for what it is.” 

Lettie stood up, and Phillip was only marginally surprised when she bent forward and hugged him around the shoulders tightly before straightening up again, as if nothing had happened. 

“Get some sleep, Carlyle,” she said, affecting a familiar, almost flippant air. Phillip was grateful for that, he wasn’t sure he wanted to add crying in front Lettie to the night’s list of tribulations. “Maybe things will seem better with a clear head?” 

She left quietly, though it wasn’t lost on Phillip that she had left the bottle despite everything. He looked at it carefully, reached out slowly and picked it up almost the second the door shut behind Lettie. Without thinking, and certainly without pondering the ramifications of it, Phillip pulled his arm back and hurled the bottle at the far wall with all his might. 

It shattered with a satisfying crash, the glittering pieces falling to the ground as if they were diamonds tumbling across the floorboards. Liquid dripped down the wall, a macabre stain on the wall that might have fit with the original theme of the building. Phillip thought it certainly fit his mood. He let his head drop painfully to the desk, and wondered if Lettie was right. If things would seem better in the morning, with a clear head? He doubted it though. Not when his heart was broken, shattered beyond repair. Just like a bottle smashed against the wall.


End file.
